. . . and now we are eight. Eight women who have gathered every second Wednesday at each other’s homes since the late 1950s and early 60s. Originally bonded by graduation from Wauwatosa High School (a near west side suburb of Milwaukee) in 1953, we’ve gathered other friends along the way. Since the 50s and 60s were early mothering years, we began with evening meetings including lots of chat and a sumptuous dessert with our prettiest tableware. Candles and/or centerpieces were givens and always will be—so long as we can still manage to strike a match (and blow it out!) or delve in our storage closets for interesting adjuncts to the occasion!

As our children grew to school age, we switched to mid day, with lots of chat and a luncheon on the above mentioned tables—varying of course with the seasons, availability of fresh flowers from gardens, and prevailing daylight or early dark. Now we are getting into the mature years, and we sometimes opt to serve dessert only, or even meet at a restaurant. But homes are still the best. Last week the eight of us, plus one delightful guest making us “nine”, met in Joe’s and my condo on a drop-dead gorgeous March day with doors open and sunlight pouring in.

How can we do this, year after year? Unlike every other gathering to which I’ve belonged, we are not glued together by a specific interest such as Bible Study, knitting, spinning, serious bridge, writing, and antiquing which have composed the grist of my other groupie activities over the years.

In our thirteen-now-eight group, we’re not all on the same page, worldview-wise or according to politics. Not one bit! Yikes! Indeed, it’s tacitly understood that there are conversational places where we simply never go; for if we did, our shared pleasant origins might deteriorate into a food fight: especially if some of us began quoting our favorite, highly-polarized Cable News sources.

Some share an interest in a craft, and others don’t craft at all. Some of us decorate with antiques, and others with practically nothing in the room except for a couch, table, a few chairs, and a lamp or two. We all share a love for family, but we rarely talk about our families. (I probably am the most apt to talk family, because I have so many fun and funny little people to talk about.)

We rarely discuss a problem. Or medical stuff—the most boring topic of all. Our bodies are beginning to fall apart, but we try to eschew talking about bodies. On perkier days, we talk of the natural world outside our doors: the birds we’ve seen at our feeders; the recent cougar siting in Brookfield, WI—a suburb west of Wauwatosa; the deer and coyotes ubiquitous to our county. That is real talk. Some like to travel: always fun to hear about. Some, like me, stay home and enjoy each day. I can make jaunty conversation out of that—at least no one has fallen asleep listening to me so far.

Perhaps the closest to a common bond other than families would be pets and gardens. No matter what side of the political aisle we are on, we agree that cats are hilarious and infinitely interesting. Plus, most of us agree that dogs are people. Although I have been cat-less for decades, and (sob-sob) currently dog-less (that cannot last much longer) I never tire of hearing talk about anyone’s cats and dogs. Better than politics any day.

But even pets can’t explain the phenomena of women gathering every single month over a period of almost six decades! So what’s up? I go back to one common denominator: a gracious mother in an open home. I believe we were all blessed with such mothers and homes. We learned the art of disagreeing without throwing food; and avoiding areas of pointless discourse where no one’s mind will budge short of much prayer and a God-given epiphany. We agree to disagree, and get on with the “math” in terms of our considerable common denominators.

We learned to chew WITH OUR MOUTHS CLOSED, not to lick our knives, and other mannerly amenities of dining. We learned TO NEVER TALK WITH FOOD IN OUR MOUTHS. The alternatives are unthinkable. These mouth bits alone make for six decades of companionable talking and eating. 🙂

And believe it or not, the mouth manners have been instrumental in naming our group: We are TALK AND EAT!

The above racing team consists of my paternal grandfather, George Washington Longenecker (1864-1951) and one of his American Standardbreds. Grandpa George may be considered an obscure poet; but he was far from obscure in Neillsville, Wisconsin where he served for decades as a preacher in the 1st Congregational Church.

Along with “pastoring” (actually Congregational preachers* are called “Reverend” rather than “Pastor”), Grandpa George raised American Standardbreds and competed in sulky races at local fairs. This activity raised a few legalistic eyebrows in the small Wisconsin community—probably due to the possibility of spectators gambling on the races. But Grandpa’s recreational passions involved horses and poetry, not money.

Having made poems ever since I can recall and pursued a lifelong study of poetry as fine art, I need to mention that most literary poetry aficionados would consider my grandfather’s verses to be doggerel. Although Grandpa was raised on classical literature, his course of study was theology—not the fine arts. Like many Congregational Reverends in his era, he graduated from Ohio’s Oberlin Seminary.

Grandpa George loved the Lord Scripturally, with all his heart and mind. His poems reflect his love, and that’s good enough for me! My grandfather also loved music, specifically the great hymns of the Christian faith which he played on his violin. Much of Grandpa’s poetry contains the cadence and meter of a hymn.

In 1947 Grandpa self-published a book of his work titled SUNSET POEMS—named after my grandparents’ home, “Sunset Point”, on a bluff overlooking Wisconsin’s beautiful Black River. Here is one of the poems:

George W. Longenecker

No feature concerning Grandpa George would be complete apart from mention of his beloved life partner, Emma Rosina Ernst Longenecker (1866-1952), my grandmother. In past blog entries I have celebrated Grandma Rose who was known for her abundant garden produce, homemade bread, and frequent litters of kittens generously shared with people around town.

Here is Grandma Rose when she was a young girl:

*A contemporary novel, GILEAD by Marilynne Robinson, centers on three generations of small town Congregational Reverends from the Civil War to Mid-20th Century. I was riveted to this book and want to read it again, as it reflects my roots. Potentially classic, GILEAD is a quietly-powerful piece of fiction. Marilynne Robinson’s storytelling gift is poignantly beautiful. Two more of her novels, HOME and LILA, form a trilogy with GILEAD.

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. Against such there is no law.” Galatians 5:22-23

Have you ever witnessed a crazier pre-election circus? Has the world ever before seemed to be crowding in so quickly, closer and closer?

Have communications ever been more constant and all-encompassing—inescapable unless one stuffs his or her electronic devices in the back of a remote drawer and goes for a long, solitary walk? Or even better—the very best of all—unless one plunges head first into the depths of God’s ever-faithful, ever beneficial Word! God’s Word is the only place to go for rest, for comprehension, perspective, and power. God’s Word not only mined daily, but stored as priceless treasure for instant, ongoing accessibility and application.

While the clouds grow thicker so does our call, as Christians, not only to share the Gospel of our Risen Lord and Savior Jesus Christ—but to mirror His indwelling Life, so that the fruit of His Holy Spirit can be seen by all, everywhere we go! In simple terms, we are called today just God’s people were instructed centuries ago: to live the Christian life, as mandated in Galatians 5:22-23.

Not to rant and rave* over all the things that are amiss (although, when watching the news I sometimes forget!) Not to rend our clothes, Old Testament style. Not to scream at those who are “out of line”. And certainly not (even worse!) to scream at those who are in line.

The fruit of the Spirit is the genuine outworking of Christ’s life in us, the “hope” (sure-fire fact!) of glory. Whatever we are doing as the fruit is displayed, and wherever we may be, will differ with each individual whom God calls. As we focus on our Lord, He directs our whatever/wherever. Our “Full time Christian Service” may be public (as in church, missions, or workplace) or private (as in home and/or friendship circles). Both are equally valid and vital. But fruit there must be, if our witness is to be effective.

I have blogged near-volumes on this topic, and God-willing I may continue to write more. The issue is ever-green because (probably like every other believer, and definitely as Paul recorded in his letter to the Romans) I struggle with reflecting God’s fruit—even given prayer and immersion in His Word. Patience (longsuffering) is a bit of a challenge for me; and as we all realize about the fruit of God’s Spirit—we cannot select. We need to present the whole basket.

God knows His own. If I bungle my witness, His own people will still be saved for Eternity; they haven’t lost a thing. And when I refuse to relax and let Jesus display His fruit through me, I am nonetheless still saved for Eternity. But I will have missed the here-and-now blessing that would have come had I been in sync with our Lord in that instance.

Margaret L. Been — March 21, 2016

*The most famous sermon in U.S. history is without a doubt, Jonathan Edwards’ “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.” God used this masterpiece (not only of Scripture truth but of literary construction) to pave the way for the movement of His Holy Spirit in an unprecedented revival on our continent.

Did Jonathan Edwards shout, and rave? No way. His delivery was unremarkable, and it has been recorded that he actually read his sermons.

It was God’s truth in this sermon, not the human vehicle, which set the course of American Christianity from the 1700s on. In fact, had Edwards ranted and raved, his words may never have taken such a profound course. The man might have attracted more attention than the message. God chose a quiet-mannered man for the most spectacular movement of the Holy Spirit in our nation.

Although “Sinners” is the most famous of Edwards’ individual messages, it has been his sermons of joy-filled wonder at the magnificence and beauty of God that theologians (and everyday readers like me) have cherished, found edifying, and re-read again and again for rich spiritual food. MLB

There is no room for naivité in today’s world. All I can do in light of the barrage of news we receive is to go on preserving and treasuring the world I’ve always known. Indeed, my insular world may last only a moment—so I treasure each moment as a gift from God.

Beyond a series of moments on earth lies an eternity of joy for the Christian believer. Meanwhile my precarious earth moments are filled with prayers, family, friends, a corgi, music, paintbrushes, knitting needles and yarn, spinning wheels, gardens indoors and out, poetry, books/books/books, antiques, junk, never ending batches of soap from our kitchen, and a whole lot more.

A common thread connects the moments: BEAUTY. I know I’m not alone in determining to pursue and celebrate Beauty—and to TREASURE THE MOMENT!

“For unto us a child is born, unto us a Son is given; and the government shall be upon His shoulder; and His name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, the everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace. Of the increase of His government and peace there shall be no end, upon the throne of David, and upon His kingdom, to order it, and to establish it with judgment and with justice from henceforth even for ever. The zeal of the LORD of hosts will perform this.” Isaiah 9:6-7 KJV

This is the greatest GIFT, the gift of salvation through the Lord Jesus Christ Who suffered on an unspeakably cruel cross and died to pay our sin debt—then rose victorious to give us eternal life, HIS abundant life now and forever! I received this priceless gift of God’s Grace forty-four years ago this coming January. The GREATEST GIFT!

I was blessed to have parents and a closely bonded extended family and friends who loved life, valued life, and lived by Godly principles. My grandparents were Bible believing Christians, and in later years I was greatly persuaded that my parents also received the greatest gift—The Lord Jesus Christ.

In my early childhood, family Christmases were somewhat shadowed by a tragedy that had occurred before I was born: my sister, Shirley, had died at age two on Christmas Day. Yet Christmas was always a time for celebration, hope, and joy. We loved being together, we loved the music, we loved the Christmas Story. And we loved giving and receiving gifts.

In light of the fact that we believers are recipients of the Greatest Gift in Heaven and on the earth, because we are walking around everyday with the very life of God in the Person of His Holy Spirit, the most natural thing to do is to give gifts to family members and friends. Up until I believed in the Lord Jesus, I naturally loved giving gifts; it was the most wonderful and fun thing to do. But once I became a believer, God’s Spirit enhanced and blessed our family traditions in such a way that I was, and still am,”over the top” with His joy over our family Christmases.

The Christmas worship services, the music (decades of singing in choirs), favorite recipes (which our children looked forward to each year and still serve to this day), the gatherings with laughter and games we played with the children (and still play, as new family games appear on a regular basis), and our tradition of GIVING became so endowed with implicit depth of meaning and God’s love, that it is inconceivable to imagine any other way to live.

As Joe and I raised our six children, extra people at the family dinner table (year round, not just at Christmas) was a given. Friends were family. If a child or young adult friend of one of our children hung out in our home, he or she automatically became one of the loved ones; they were included in the food, hilarious games, and the Christmas giving.

What is more fun than giving and receiving? It’s not about spending a lot of cash. Although exceptions have been made over the years for some special item or when there is a specific need, it cannot be about spending huge sums. We have, to date, forty-nine immediate family members, not counting myself. But even if we were just a handful of folks, it would still be all about loving each person and deciding what would be fun to give—rather than just blowing money.

I love to make gifts. For years good gifts came out of my oven or off my pantry shelves where bountiful jams and jellies were preserved. Now we have children, their spouses, and their children who share yummy kitchen creations. Although I still bake some things, now I am very happy to paint a watercolor, knit a hat for a child (or an adult), design and knit funky, colorful scarves for all ages, and share my homemade soaps in those lovely gift boxes (just inside the door as you enter JoAnn Fabrics, and at other outlets as well).

Throughout the year, my antennae is up when I browse at art fairs, antique malls, and even rummage sales. By Christmas each year, I’ve managed to acquire a stash for family members and friends who appreciate lovely vintage art glass or a hand crafted piece of stained glass, mosaic, pottery, whatever.

And then there is that fantastic treat, popular as of recent years, the Gift Certificate. Although that may seem to be a cop-out to some, I think the certs are wonderful. I tailor them to individuals. Some of our young families do a lot of home repair and renovation. Home Depot. One family member loves Starbucks, but being a diligently frugal young lady she will pass up that luxury on her budget. I get tremendous pleasure out of giving her a Starbucks cert for her birthday or sometimes Christmas—and picturing her savoring her powerful coffee and perhaps a sweet. And who doesn’t love Barnes & Noble? Books and music—something for every preference and taste.

In our mushrooming family, Joe and I have seventeen great-grandchildren ranging from age twelve down to nine months. Babies typically get little cuddly animals from this Granny—stuffed, not live although I’d love to be given permission to pick out a real kitten or puppy. That is yet to happen! The other children? Books, puzzles, crayons, etc. It’s easy, almost a “DUH”, to find gifts for young people. In fact, all ages are easy, when you long to give some little token of your love and thoughtful consideration.

I constantly find wonderful cooking and crafting books (mostly like new) at a nearby St. Vinnie’s. Again, these gift books are tailored to the recipients and their hobbies and interests. How rewarding is that! I have delighted someone’s heart, for all of $2.19 or thereabout.

Underlying it all is the fact that we love because He first loved us. We give because He has given to us—that Greatest Gift of salvation and eternal life. Giving is sharing. When we are filled to overflowing with God’s gift of love, we simply can’t not share with those whom we love. When we are filled to overflowing with God’s Word and His gift of grace, we are delighted to graciously receive and enjoy the gifts which our loved ones have thoughtfully selected or made for us.

Christmas! A stress-free time of joy. That doesn’t mean that our circumstances are all perfect, at all times. For many years our celebration centered at our home, and I fed a lot of people. Granted, sometimes I felt a bit stun-gunned when the season was over, because I had spent physical and emotional energy far beyond any that I possessed. But God has always given me what I needed, to serve Him by serving people. And stun-gunned though I was, it was with a sense of purpose and great blessing that I “collapsed” into a quieter routine (as quiet as a routine can be when raising six children). I knew that God was the center of my giving (as well as my “giving out”) and I rested in Him. I still do. It’s the only way to live, and it’s the only way I want to live!

We have had poignant holidays in the wake of bereavement over loss. We have had tearful Christmases when circumstances were nearly devastating due to a loved one’s rebellious decisions. Four Christmases ago Joe and I were a wall apart in hospital beds, beginning the arduous recovery from major surgeries both occurring in a space of a few hours a couple of days before Christmas.

But it was still, and always will be, Christmas. The Grinch can’t steal it and neither can illness, family sorrows, death, economic circumstances, or any of the world’s weighty problems. Christmas! If a metaphorical Grinch were to come on Christmas Eve and confiscate our trees and our lights and our presents, it would still be Christmas and we would still be giving—because in all of our giving we are giving ourselves, and giving to our Lord the thanksgiving and glory which He deserves. If we have nothing to give, we will still give somehow in some way.

Christmas is stress-free and joyous—a time to celebrate the loving and giving that we treasure around the year. We love because He first loved us. And we give, because He has given us THE GREATEST GIFT. It would be unthinkable to do anything else but give when we have received so much! Merry Christmas!

Margaret Been, December 23rd, 2014

Note: On the bottom left side of the above photo, you will see a charming manger scene created out of popsicle sticks, bits of cloth, and miscellaneous odds and ends. This was custom-made for Joe and me a few years ago by four great-grandchildren under the supervision of their Mom—our granddaughter, Alicia.

If you look closely on the bottom left, you will see little bits of white and purple under or beside the people: Joseph, Mary, Baby Jesus in His manger bed, and a shepherd. The little bits are sheep, fashioned from pipe cleaners and dabs of white material, by Alicia’s youngest child—less than two years old at the time if I recall correctly. Now that is a gift to treasure forever!

Here we are (or I should say “were“)—Joe and I, obviously smitten with each other—at one of my High School formal dances in 1950. Back then ordinary dresses were called “frocks”, and formals were called “gowns”. Our life was romantic in the mid 20th Century, and our romance will always flourish. After 61 plus years of marriage and countless joys and challenges, we are still smitten with each other. And although currently my closet is void of actual formal gowns, it abounds in frocks which I love to wear.

Dressing with a flair for romance does not have to mean spending a lot of bucks (although it can). Nor does it even begin to include the “Hollywood Glammy” look, worn by today’s female “stars” with their body parts falling out of the garments. (In the 1940s and 50s, Hollywood gowns were truly glamorous. Whatever happened to good taste?)

To me, romantic dressing is simply a matter of what (the colors, styles, and accessories I enjoy) as well as how (with the confidence that I am doing the best I can with what God has given me). My mother’s classic advice will always ring in my ears: “Fix yourself up every day (regarding personal hygiene, arrangement of hair, facial cosmetics, a lovely perfume or cologne, and the wearing of apparel) as best as you can. Then just forget about yourself and have a good time!”Wise Mom!

Of course there have been times over the years of child raising, when the recipe for looking my best hit the fan. There were times of mucking out a sheep shed where I was less than cosmetically interesting. But hey Mom, I was still having a good time!

Which brings me to an important aspect of romantic living: the zest for living. For me, God’s Grace through faith in the Lord Jesus has augmented that joie de vivre which has been a common thread running through my family of origin and my parents’ and grandparents’ families as well. Somewhere back in the Scottish Highlands and the Swiss Alps there must have been some Campbells and Longeneckers who were having a good time. Maybe they were partially “high on life” because of their hilly or mountainous locales, but here I am—not tremendously higher than sea level, and still “having a good time”.

A zest for living the romantic life translates to daily happiness for me. Barring horrific circumstances (and the world is full of those!) happiness is a choice. My desire to live each day romantically, with a mind to providing a setting which nourishes my soul and that of others around me, is indeed a choice. But I cannot recall ever wanting to choose differently.

Creating beautiful and useful objects is a huge factor in my romantic lifestyle. I often wake up feeling less than physically fabulous. HOWEVER knowing that I have a garment in process on the knitting needles or a watercolor drying on the work table—or soap curing in the kitchen—serves better than cannon shot to get me out of bed, and almost as effectively as caffeine to sort me out—gimpy body notwithstanding.

Romance can be audible: from outdoor sounds—wind, rain, birds, insects, coyotes, etc. to the music of man’s God-given creativity. On a rainy afternoon I love to immerse my head and heart in arias and overtures from Verdi’s passionate operas. I frequently play romantic old tunes—“As Time Goes By”, “Deep Purple”, etc.—on my piano as well as favorite classics and the haunting ballads from PHANTOM OF THE OPERA and other 20th Century musicals.

Joe and I recently attended a fine production of LES MISERABLES at a local dinner theatre. Fantine’s solo, “I Dreamed a Dream” is among the most poignant vocal narratives I’ve ever experienced—a recital of a clandestine, heartbreaking love affair. The incredibly tender melody keeps rolling in my head. I play a simplified piano arrangement of it, while adding interpretive arpeggios and random chords. Most unforgettable music—whether jubilant, poignant, or just plain sad—will always contain something of the romance factor: expressing my love for God, for my country or a person—or some statement of the human condition, replete with a life-affirming quality of beauty.

Thus I celebrate romance. The word “romance” has meant many things to me over many years: the love which my husband and I have shared since 1950, a love for beauty to inspire the eyes and ears while stirring the soul—and an appreciation for the many aspects of life which add roundness, firmness, tenderness, strength of mind, zest for living, and depth of awareness.

These aspects of romance and thereby human LIFE, are enhanced and perfected by the knowledge that all good gifts—material and sensory as well as spiritual and eternal—come from the one and only Triune God. Praise Him!

“Always Time for Tea” is the title of the above rendering. Tea Time in March is charged with anticipation, excited about change, and zesty with the invigoration of fiercely raging wind and ever-stretching sunlit hours.

Today’s wind is not kind; it’s raw and bitter to the taste, like afternoon Earl Grey Tea when it’s been allowed to over-steep. Today’s sun is glorious—redolent of fragrant places where ripe and mellow leaves were harvested for an “Irish Breakfast” most anywhere in the world.

Along with the joy of anticipation, my St. Patrick’s Day Irish Breakfast musings (in Nashotah, Wisconsin, USA) are shadowed by things that are lost: a Malaysian jet carrying over 200 passengers, and perhaps millions of people in our culture who haven’t even the faintest comprehension of the importance of solitude—or whose once-valued serenity has gone missing.

How many of us are there left in this crazy culture, who still understand (and prioritize!) the serenity of spending time alone/alone/alone. I don’t mean always being physically alone/alone/alone. I speak of mentally/spiritually/emotionally investing time alone and nurturing that soul solitude and serenity which can only come from a depth of completion—the integral completion which we can receive from God’s Grace through the presence of the Lord Jesus Christ in one’s life as revealed in Scripture.

How many individuals still treasure time alone: perhaps really alone for a few hours or minutes—strolling in a sheltered woods, basking in a sunny window, lounging on the patio in the summer—with the ubiquitous iced tea (Earl Grey or Irish Breakfast) in hand? Alone in one’s mind, unfettered by the worries and potential issues that surround anyone who is breathing and thinking?

Alone. Apart. Soothed by the realization that the heartbreaking issues of the day are a bleep in Eternity. Solitude, serenity, ALONENESS! Busy schedules have been common to much of mankind since the beginning of time. But today life can become even more complex, if we so allow. In an age of electronic communications and the proliferation of Facebook friends, how many remember the concept of being alone? And how many even care, or have the foggiest idea of what they are missing?

I love my laptop for shopping, acquiring information, and blogging. These are refreshing pastimes. How wonderful to shop without driving to a store where you may or may not find exactly what you want—be it a special garment (most of my clothing is purchased online), a sable paint brush, a new-to-you line of watercolors or gouche in exciting colors, or the base and fragrance oils for your soap-making avocation. How rewarding to be able to access an endless library of answers in your ongoing quest for learning. And how fulfilling to communicate via a blog with people from literally every corner of the earth.

But certain other aspects of the electronic world would quickly threaten to undermine my serenity, if I would fail to preserve a balance—and those specific aspects are email and Facebook. Email has become a kind of necessity in the minds of many, and for business purposes and the sharing of prayer requests it is indeed valuable. Facebook serves one and only one purpose for me: that of viewing and sometimes downloading charming photos of the people in my life. But balance and frequent avoidance of both of these computer areas are necessary to my discipline of preserving serenity and an atmosphere of solitude in the midst of an overflowing life filled with precious people and their needs. Thus I will often go for at least a week without checking either Facebook or my email. Anyone who really needs me will find me via telephone or snail mail—or best of all, with a knock on my door.

Today I pray that someone among the 26 participating rescue nations will discover the missing jet. Every day I pray that I’ll remember to savor as many serenity-inspiring sights and sounds as I can find, with which to greet each day: and certainly always before accessing email or Facebook.

A pot of tea helps, whether celebrated alone or shared with a kindred soul. There’s always time for tea!